


anyway, here's wonderwall

by kimdahyun (orphan_account)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-02 00:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8643877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/kimdahyun
Summary: A love story to mini-kegs, Cheetos, Tupac, and boys who play guitar.





	

Seungcheol is toeing the line between “tipsy” and “wasted off his ass,” which would be pretty par for the course if not for the fact that: it’s Tuesday at 1 pm; he has a paper due at 1:30 pm; a comprehensive list of what he has written so far would be his name, student ID, and something vaguely resembling an essay’s opening sentence. It might have even been topical, had his assignment been to analyze the effect of Tupac’s death on contemporary fair trade in Southeast Asia.

 

It’s his professor’s fault, anyway. No one assigns a late penalty of 2% off per day and actually expects their students to take the deadline seriously. Seungcheol had completely forgotten it was due until he got the alert on his phone an hour before, and by then, he was already halfway through the mini-keg that Soonyoung had found on sale.

 

It’s also Soonyoung’s fault, now that he thinks about it. No one can say no when their roommate brings home a mini-keg. Even when it’s a Tuesday at 1 pm.

 

“You might as well just give up for now and write it when you’ve sobered up. It’s not like you’ll actually be able to finish it in time, anyway,” Jihoon proposes, voice not even slurred. To be fair, he had been asleep until Seungcheol’s earth-shaking groan a half hour ago, but Seungcheol is pretty sure he’s seen him do several mini-keg stands since then.

 

“Not with that attitude,” Seungcheol says, brows furrowed as he stares at his laptop screen. _While Mr. Shakur’s passing brought about a general decline in the standard of life, the promise of a South Korea without corruption breathed new hope in the basest of levels. Of course, the next year brought about a widespread financial crisis that no one could have anticipated, unless one were to realize that the Thai baht collapsed almost immediately after what would have been Shakur’s 26th birthday._

 

An ominous crash comes from the kitchen, followed by Soonyoung’s muffled “ _I’m fine,_ ” and Jihoon’s mouth immediately twists into a scowl. “If he broke another set of chinaware, I’m going to kill him and collect his life insurance as rent money,” he mutters, shuffling towards the source of the noise.

 

Seungcheol tries to zone in on his paper, but it becomes difficult when he can hear every word of Jihoon’s increasingly-loud tirade on staying away from breakable items when you’re drunk, Soonyoung, that’s why you have your fucking bedroom, and can you _stop_ facetiming Seokmin while I’m trying to talk to you—

 

Through his muddled brain, Seungcheol decides that he’s been meaning to check out the dorm’s common room, anyway. He closes his laptop and tucks it under his arm, mumbling a goodbye as he stumbles his way through the doorway.

 

He allows a final wistful glance towards the mini-keg before the door closes behind him.

 

If he remembers correctly, there isn’t a common room on his floor, but on the floor above him. He waits patiently at the elevator, knowing he could just use the stairs but not finding the motivation. The clock ticks steadily, and Seungcheol would be worried about getting his work done on time, but he’s more concerned about the creaks he hears when the elevator doors open.

 

He steps in cautiously, half expecting it to go into a death drop. He has accepted his fate. For better or for worse, however, the elevator carefully brings him to the next floor with minimum creaking. He rushes out as soon as the doors open, not wanting to spend an extra moment in something he’s pretty sure is breathing its final breaths.

 

Because he’s allowed small mercies, his eyes immediately rest upon the door at the end of the hallway labeled “Common Room.” Narrowly resisting a fist pump, he runs over, jamming his leg against the corner of a desk and swearing under his breath. He doesn’t have time to wallow in pain, he reminds himself, and whips his laptop open.

 

The first time he meets Hong Jisoo, Seungcheol: has a paper due in fifteen minutes; is starting to sober up, slightly; realizes that the essay he’s been writing has absolutely nothing to do with the assigned topic.

 

“ _Fuck,_ ” he decides emphatically, allowing his forehead to drop sadly onto the keyboard.

 

“I agree,” says an amused voice, and Seungcheol whips his head up in confusion. He hadn’t noticed anyone else in the common room at first, from his spot at the desks, but he follows the source of the voice to find someone lounging against one of the couches. There’s an acoustic guitar leaning against his leg, and Cheeto dust covering his fingers.

 

He’s not someone Seungcheol recognizes, but it might be due to the swimming in his brain. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Seungcheol says, trying to focus his hazy gaze. The boy reaches into the Cheetos bag next to him and holds a handful out in Seungcheol’s direction.

 

“You look like you need these,” he says.

 

Seungcheol’s lips twitch up, a laugh escaping from between them. “I really do.” He pushes himself out of the chair and saunters over to the couch, impressed when he finds that his legs are mostly steady. “I’m Seungcheol. Choi Seungcheol.”

 

The other boy laughs, which makes his eyes crinkle up in a way that Seungcheol is not sober enough to fully appreciate. “Nice to meet you, Seungcheol Choi Seungcheol. I’m Joshua.” Seungcheol ponders this as he munches on a Cheeto, watching Joshua do the same.

 

“Joshua,” he tries, curious about the foreign feeling as the name slides on his tongue.

 

Joshua must pick up on the question in his voice, smiling a bit as he shifts the bag over for Seungcheol to grab a new handful from. “Or Jisoo, if you prefer. I moved here for University, but I grew up in California,” he explains.

 

“American, then,” Seungcheol elaborates, and puts on his most charming smile. “Like that song. _You’ll be my American boy_ ,” he sings in English, causing Joshua to laugh again in the way that spreads to his eyes.

 

“Exactly like that,” he agrees. Except now Seungcheol is thinking about Kanye, which means he’s thinking about American rap artists, which means he’s thinking about Tupac, which means—

 

“Fuck,” he says again, shoving one last Cheeto into his mouth as he runs back to his computer. His eyes drift towards the clock in the top right corner, and he winces. “Do you think I could write a three-page paper in seven minutes?”

 

Joshua whistles in a way that Seungcheol can hear the empathy in. “Maybe. Through like, sheer force of will. And divine intervention.”

 

“I can work with that,” he says, deleting what he’s written so far, although it pains him. It’s actually a quite interesting hypothesis that he’d like to explore further, now that his intoxicated brain has brought it up.

 

They sit in silence for a few moments as Seungcheol frantically types, until he remembers that the late penalty is literally only 2%, and that’s definitely a lot less of a threat to his GPA than if he submitted the disaster that he has written so far. At this point, the Cheetos in his stomach have lulled him into near-sobriety. He can write something decent later.

 

As he tries to remember what exactly the essay topic is, he hears a gentle beat. He lifts his head to find that Jisoo had picked up the guitar that had been lying against him, and is now strumming lightly. “I hope you don’t mind,” Joshua says, raising his gaze to meet Seungcheol’s.

 

Had he actually been dedicated to doing any work, he might’ve found it a tad distracting; however, now that he has released the burden of accomplishing anything, he just shakes his head. “Go for it.”

 

Joshua shoots him a quick smile before turning his gaze back to his fingers, which move with a dexterity that mesmerizes Seungcheol. He’s pretty sure his own fingers are still covered in Cheetos, but Joshua’s look clean and artistic, with a little bit of orange stuck under the fingernails. They play a song Seungcheol doesn’t recognize, but he’s content closing his eyes and listening.

 

After a minute or so, Joshua’s voice is added to the mix. Seungcheol follows the lyrics, enjoying the way the other’s slight accent dances around the syllables. He closes his laptop and crosses his arms on top of it, leaning his chin in the space between his arms.

 

He has a nice voice: higher than Seungcheol’s own, but warm. When he finishes, Seungcheol claps loudly, and he finds that he likes the way it makes Joshua throw his head back and laugh.

 

“You’re really good,” he says, and he isn’t just being polite.

 

“Thank you,” Joshua smiles. He seems like one of those kids who’s always smiling; Seungcheol feels like he probably went to Sunday school as a kid. “How’s the paper coming?”

 

Seungcheol winces at the reminder. “It’s not. I’ve decided I’m gonna just like, write a really baller essay and take the late penalty, instead of handing in something that’s bullshit but on time.” He sounds wise, he thinks.

 

The other nods understandingly, tapping his fingers against his guitar. “Good strategy,” he agrees.

 

“Are you a music major?” Seungcheol asks, curious. “Because, you know, the guitar. One of my roommates is, so I was wondering.” Not that Joshua seems to be anything like Jihoon, based on this past interaction.

 

Joshua shakes his head, tweaking at one of the strings. “No, it’s just something I like. I’m an English major.”

 

The image of Joshua in a beanie, wearing dark eyeliner and reading Faulkner, slips into Seungcheol’s mind before he can hold back a laugh. “You seem kind of preppy for an English major,” he says through his chuckles.

 

Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to have offended Joshua, who scrunches his nose. “Please never find pictures of my 17 year old scene kid phase. I wore so much black. I had a _fringe_.” He shudders at the memory, causing Seungcheol to laugh harder. Joshua throws a Cheeto at him to make him stop, which works in that he’s too busy eating to laugh as efficiently. “Anyway, I bet you study, like, management or something,” Joshua continues.

 

Still laughing a bit, Seungcheol shakes his head. “Econ,” he says. Joshua strums his fingers against his guitar in what kind of sounds like the musical equivalent of laughter.

 

“Wow, that’s somehow even douchier,” he revels. Seungcheol just shrugs, because he’s not wrong. Instead of waiting for a response, Joshua continues strumming, this time forming a song Seungcheol knows.

 

It’s an English song, one he recognizes playing pretty often in movies and teen TV shows. He hums along, quietly enough that he can hear Joshua’s voice as the first verse begins. Joshua seems more confident with the language, which Seungcheol understands.

 

As Joshua keeps playing, Seungcheol walks back over to the couch. Joshua’s gaze follows him curiously, until he realizes the other is going for the Cheetos bag. He rolls his eyes, but a smile bleeds in as he starts the chorus.

 

Seungcheol stands there, the crunch of Cheetos mixing with the sweet melody coming from the boy next to him. Before the song finishes, he finds his thumb brushing against the corner of Joshua’s mouth, startling him and breaking the flow of the music.

 

“You had Cheeto dust there,” he explains, which isn’t a lie, but also isn’t the reason he did it.

 

Joshua keeps looking up at him, hands still on the strings. Seungcheol notices a sticker on his guitar, but doesn’t look closely enough to identify it. He puts his hand on one of Joshua’s.

 

“Boys are confusing about this kind of thing, so you’re going to have to spell it out for me,” Joshua says. He slides the guitar off his lap and sits up straight, turning his hand around so he can intertwine their fingers. When Seungcheol sits on the back of the couch, they’re almost at eye level.

 

He doesn’t spell anything, but Joshua figures it out anyway. He tastes like Cheetos, and when Seungcheol pulls away, his cheeks are dusted pink instead of artificial orange.

 

“You’re really weird, you know,” he says, but he doesn’t let go of Seungcheol’s hand.

 

“You have a Naruto sticker on your guitar,” is Seungcheol’s response, and he smiles against Joshua’s lips before he can retaliate.

**Author's Note:**

> I like, forget about cheolsoo for 5-day intervals and then it becomes all I think about for another 5-day interval. Rinse and repeat. I've been trying to write a gyuhao fic, but it's a larger project, and it's so much easier to just throw these embarrassing guys out there.
> 
> This is so trashy and I'm so sorry. It's pretty much a Cheetos advertisement, because apparently I am really craving some right now. Also, I have no idea how university works in Korea, so hopefully this isn't a complete mess? I mostly based it off my own experiences as a Canadian uni student. Also, I really wanted to fit this in but I couldn't figure out how to: Seungcheol is a math minor, which is entirely because I wanted to make a cosecant joke. Good ole csc.


End file.
